Sunday, 9 February 2014

Shopophobe

I've never been much of a one for shopping. Security staff scrutinise me as I stand immobilised by apathy near store exits while companions contentedly browse. The vicarage laundry basket brims because I lose the power of motion before reaching detergents at the far end of the supermarket.

In the past I surmounted this deficiency by wearing clothes till they shredded and rinsing the vicarage smalls in Head & Shoulders. Now, however, I have children and my children persist in growing and currently scarcely a month goes by without an emergency dash round shoe shops to replace essential footwear. And on these occasions I marvel that I used to deem shopping a hardship for high streets with two kids in tow are like this:

11yo: Oh my gosh, Mum, I need this pore eraser.Me: You don't need it; you want it.11yo: Mum, you're so medieval. Make up is my life!9yo: What are 18 nines?Me: Um…11yo: I've got to get it!Me: What is pore eraser?9yo: MUM, 18 nines?Me: Um ...11yo: You don't even know what instant pore eraser is!9yo: What are seven 14s?Me: Um...is this homework?9yo: I'm counting the lightbulbs in the ceiling.11yo: Mum, I cannot live without these heels. Can you lend me the money?9yo: Did you know there are 329 lightbulbs in the Asda in Kingston?Me: You are not having heels like that.9yo: There are 98 lightbulbs in this store.11yo: Get with it, Mum! Just 'cos you wear fashion like Henry VIII in the 18th century...Me: 16th century.11yo: What's the point of knowing when some old king died when you don't know what instant pore eraser is!9yo: MUM, I've just made the biggest mistake of my life!Me: Heck, what?11yo: Tell him not to interrupt!9yo: MUM!Me: Goodness, what's wrong?9yo: I've just realised - it's not 98 lightbulbs, it's 72!

10 comments:

Hahahaha! *puts kettle on* That was exhausting! My daughter has always been a very relucatnt shopper. Even now that she is 16 and more interested in clothes and accessories than when she was younger she is much more about going in to town for one specific thing then leaving as quickly as possible, unless of course we're going to stop for a mozzarella panini, then her day is complete. I am more of a browser, contemplating possibilities as I move through the racks of clothes. Our styles clash at times, then at other times we see the benefits of each others' method. The panini after wards is usually a reward to each other for a compromise well made!

"I know these trainers are £95, but that's because they've got special built-in in-step support. Think how often you spend £95 on yourself, or Dad does. You know how important sport is to me. And I've been injured. This is a health issue, and you always say it's important to look after ourselves. You say that, and then you won't EVEN buy some trainers which will REALLY help me with my injury. Why do you say things, and then not even mean them?"

Perhaps that isn't entirely typical, but it was yesterday's experience.

Brilliant.... I nearly had to reach for the drugs after that. Can't imagine where your head was at :o). Fortunately Little A likes shopping with me, unfortunately she wants everything we walk past, 'mummy, can I have a treat.' (it's only going to get worse). X

I found pocket money stopped that. Once they twigged they could only have what they could afford with their weekly quid they learnt the art of saving and stopped pestering for presents. Now, five years on, they assume that if they want something they have to pay for it - including instant pore eraser!

Food shopping with the little uns is no fun either. If you ever happen to be shopping in a Grotesco Extra in north west Cardiff, please feel free to say hello. I will be the one in the crisps and treats aisle, staring catatonically into space, as three small children chant and dance ritualistically around me, clutching produce.

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About Me

As a vicar's wife I bake cakes and memorise the parish ailments. As a mother I occasionally feed and occasionally counsel an 11-year-old son and an 13-year-old daughter. As a journalist I am a part-time staff feature writer on The Guardian and a freelancer. Tartan sofa rugs, herbaceous perennials and a nightly lager hold it all together.